


Isn't It Kinda Fun?

by kittiehawke



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 09:35:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6324103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittiehawke/pseuds/kittiehawke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BLU Spy has been trapped in a fridge for too long and will do anything to get out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isn't It Kinda Fun?

“Kill me.”

“Later.”

It was starting to become routine. A little ritual they enacted every time he opened the refridgerator door to grab a heart, a sandvich, a beer. Just another part of the medic’s day. Like saying “Gesundheit” after someone sneezed.

Something was needed to change the script.

The BLU Spy had been trapped in the refrigerator for too long. He’d been wracking his brain trying to figure out what would convince that madman to just kill him already. He’d tried begging, bargaining, bribery, browbeating and bullying, but it had all been useless. The doctor would just tell him that he’d get around to it eventually and then close the door.

The contents of the fridge were constantly changing. Organs would come and go, although there were always a lot of spare baboon uteruses lying around. Beakers and flasks of medi gun fuel at different stages of distillation with illegible scrawls on the labels. The smoke from his cigarettes helped mask it, but the fridge smelled terrible. The Spy needed to get out.

Beyond the smell, the muffled sound of singing was starting to drive him mad. At least it marked the passing of time. In the mornings the Medic serenade his birds with “Oh What A Beautiful Morning” while feeding them. He’d pause partway through the chorus to chat with the wretched beasts and the Spy would have a moment’s relief. It was quickly dashed when the Medic launched back into warbling about ‘corn as high as an elephant’s eye.’

It seemed the Medic simply would not tire of his Rogers and Hammerstein collection. The record changer that just kept them coming, one after another, the whole time the Medic was in the surgery.

The Medic bumped the door open wider with his hip, leaning down to place a carefully constructed sandvich on the shelf below the spy. Fresh air washed into the refrigerator as the Medic sang, “But isn't it kind of fun to look in each other's eyes swapping romantic gleams?”

The Spy caught the Medic’s eye and launched into the next line on the recording. “Maybe I'm not a girl to have and to hold” he sang, wishing he had picked the male part to jump in on. He wasn’t able to sustain the correct pitch, but it was enough to catch the doctor’s attention. 

A bright glint in his eye, the Medic responded coyly, “Well, maybe I'm not a boy who would stay.”

“But isn't it kind of fun carousing around the town, dancing the night away?” They finished the chorus together as the Medic finally pulled him out of the refrigerator. He gave a half-twirl to the beat before setting the head carefully on his desk. They continued their duet, tossing lines back and forth for the rest of the song.

“You have a remarkable range, Herr Spy.” The Medic drummed his fingers along the top of the Spy’s head. 

“It’s easier when I don’t have to rely on lungs.” The Spy admitted, it had been much easier to hold notes when he was no longer limited by lung capacity. “A few more songs perhaps? Just to get out of your fridge?”

“Of course, I haven’t had such fun since I was in a production of South Pacific! I played Nellie, since there were no girls at my college and… you can sing the role of Emile!” The Medic flipped rapidly through his record collection. “Oh… I love Rodgers and Hammerstein! Heavy just doesn’t get it though.”

The rest of the afternoon flew by with Medic singing a slightly off key Nellie and the Spy trying to keep up as Emile.

The were partway through ‘Some Enchanted Evening’, the Medic holding the head in his arms and doing a stately waltz, when the Heavy barged through the door. He just gaped at the strange scene. The Medic fumbled with the head, trying to hide it behind his back.

“This isn’t what it looks like!”, he cried. The Spy grinned, perhaps this was the moment he was looking for. The Medic didn’t seem inclined to get rid of him, but perhaps the Heavy might.

“It looks like you are singing love song to tiny BLU Spy!” The Heavy pulled the head from behind the doctor’s back, turning it this way and that with a horrified look on his face.

“Be careful! The connections are very delicate!” The Medic scrambled against the Heavy’s grip trying to keep the battery connection from failing.

The Spy stared forlornly at the Medic, “But… Docteur! All those things you said! The promises we made, did they mean nothing?”

“What promises?” The Heavy roared into the Spy’s face, breath hot and smelling of sandviches.

“He’s lying, mein Kuschelbar. It’s what spies do.” The Medic said dismissively, the battery cradled in his hands.

The Spy cried out, “Mais mon cher Docteur!” 

“We talk later. But now…” The Heavy growled as he tore the wires from the Spy head and tossed it across the room. 

“All my work!” The Medic crouched over the head, trying with one last effort to reconnect the wires. The Spy blinked up at the Medic, his vision fading slowly. He managed to croak out one final line from the song, “Fools give you reasons, wise men never try.”


End file.
